


Strange Milks

by Arwyn



Category: due South
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Character Study, DSSS Treat, Domestic Violence, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5523722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arwyn/pseuds/Arwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>He looks down at Pop, whose face is flashing red and green from the lights through the window, and lets the nearly empty carton dangle in his hand. He thinks even if Pop were standing up, if he </em>could<em> stand up, Ray could look down on him, and his lip curls in scorn.</em></p><p>Depiction of alcoholism and bad parenting, and mentions of domestic abuse and past child abuse. No other major warnings apply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Milks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [malnpudl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/malnpudl/gifts).



> Something of a dark fic dealing with Pop Vecchio's alcoholism and abuse, and musing on the backstory of Ray's CotW line about buttermilk. There's no particularly happy resolution in this fic, but we all know Ray goes on to be Fraser's best friend and things turn out okay for him in the end. And what he survived to get there just makes him all that more compelling and wonderful.
> 
> I hope this meets some of your Ray Vecchio wishes, malnpudl!

Ray comes home after playing basketball one afternoon, after the snow got too heavy and even he agreed it was call it in or have to haul someone in for a broken ankle. He heads to the kitchen to grab a container of milk, downs it right there. He wonders where Ma is, ‘cause usually she's there yelling at him to _use a glass like a civilized person, Raimundo!_ but she's nowhere around. There's nothing bubbling on the stove, and there’s _always_ something on the stove, especially this time of year, and he wonders if Pop came home early again.

Sure enough, he wanders out to the den, past the poinsettia Ma buys from the women's group at the church every year like clockwork, and there's Pop, sprawled out in his chair. He hasn't pissed himself yet, but Ray would bet anything Ma's upstairs and won't come down for a couple hours, not until the swelling's down and she has some makeup on. (Ray's come to hate makeup -- Frannie's started to get obsessed with it, but Ma only wears it on days like this and the days after, days when there's purple and yellow to cover up, and all makeup looks purple and yellow to him these days.)

He looks down at Pop, whose face is flashing red and green from the lights through the window, and lets the nearly empty carton dangle in his hand. He thinks even if Pop were standing up, if he _could_ stand up, Ray could look down on him, and his lip curls in scorn.

Pop realizes someone else came in the room, turns to take in Ray's face, and he starts swearing, tries to stand up, slips on the snowmelt from the shoes he didn’t take off, and Ray laughs (it's a dark laughter, but what isn't; maybe he laughed lightly once, but if so he can't remember). He curses at Ray, tells him he's no man, he never will be. Tells him men don't drink that shit, he's not gonna let that stay in his house, and if Ray knew what was good for him Ray wouldn't let him catch him with that stuff in the house ever again.

Once, that might have been effective. Once, Pop could stand all evening, even if he swayed. Once, Ray looked up to him, even if sometimes it was from the floor where he fell.

Today, he takes the last swig while Pop starts snoring on the floor, then heads to the store for ice for Ma, and picks up a carton of buttermilk for tomorrow.


End file.
